


firewater

by klutzysurgeon



Category: Mushishi
Genre: Alcohol, Drinking, First Kiss, M/M, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-23 19:17:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13794465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/klutzysurgeon/pseuds/klutzysurgeon
Summary: Adashino leans back, just barely catching the cheeky expression on Ginko’s face and smoothing his own into something deadpan. “It’s completely unappealing.”“Liar.”They’re both smiling.Adashino pours himself another cup of sake for good measure.





	firewater

Alcohol, Adashino thinks, is the most dangerous drug of them all.  
  
His fingers twitch where they’re rested on the wood of his porch and he’s glad he’s too far away from Ginko to reach him even if he tried, sake making his mind hazy and his body traitorous with the desire to reach out. It’s a simple wonder, just one of many, but one that plagues him just as much as his curiosity for mushi: does Ginko’s hair feel like normal hair?  
  
He knows it _can’t_ be normal. It’s too white to be a simple absence of color. Besides that, Ginko is far too young to have gone grey already. He’s been like this the whole time Adashino has known him, that striking white head of hair against pale skin and a single haunting green eye, and more than once Adashino has found himself staring. He can’t see the mushi but he can still see their influences, he can see the items he collects as relics of their existence and he can see Ginko, the strongest proof of all.  
  
Even so, he keeps his musings under tight lock and key and sticks to the excuse that the only reason he wants to touch Ginko’s hair _(and skin and lips and—)_ is because he’s fascinated. It’s the easiest way to preserve things. He knows the mushi-shi already disapproves of his collection, however much Ginko may continue to bring him things regardless, so it’s best not to say anything.

He didn’t really account for how difficult that might be while he’s drunk, though.  
  
Ginko is sitting propped up against the side of his house while he lays flat on the porch, head spinning slightly despite being still. “Not going to puke, are you?”  
  
There’s amusement in his friend’s voice and he scowls at it, taking his monocle off and setting it to the side to rub at his eyes in hopes it will help. “No,” Adashino grumbles. “It’d be your fault if I did, anyway. You and your shitty alcohol tolerance.”  
  
“I did warn you,” Ginko says. “Plus it was your idea in the first place.”  
  
“Using logic and reasoning against me in my own home? When I’m defenseless on the floor? No respect for doctors at all these days.”  
  
Ginko laughs, short and quiet under his breath. Adashino is warmed by the sound and quickly blames it on the summer heat. It really _is_ relentless this year but he can’t complain, not when it’s the reason Ginko is sticking around for the day.  
  
_“Stay till dawn,”_ Adashino had insisted. _“It’ll be cooler then, and you’ll get heatstroke in an hour out in that sun right now. You won’t run the place over with mushi in one day.”_  
  
Ginko had deliberated at the doorway with one hand on his luggage strap, poised to go as quickly as he came. _“...Alright,”_ he relented, setting the box down. Adashino’s eyes followed it, curiosity prickling under his skin. As if knowing, Ginko wryly added: _“Though I bet_ you _wouldn’t complain if I did.”_  
  
He wouldn’t, really. Even knowing he can’t see them, Adashino would be fascinated to know that they’re around him. Even knowing they’re dangerous, he trusts Ginko to be able to deal with them.  
  
Even knowing there would be mushi, he can’t quite convince himself that’s the only reason he wanted Ginko to stay.  
  
He drowned that under the medical reasoning of not wanting an idiot traveller to drop dead of sun poisoning— a completely reasonable notion for a doctor to have— and dragged out two bottles of sake, setting them and two cups out on his porch. _“We’ve never drank together,”_ he said by way of announcement.  
  
Ginko held a hand up to stop him almost immediately, shaking his head. _“I don’t get drunk.”_  
  
_“Spoilsport.”_  
  
_“Well, it’s not by choice,”_ Ginko clarified. _“My tolerance is too high.”_  
  
_“Ohh?”_ That, more than anything, sounded like a challenge. And an easy excuse to get drunk enough to stop thinking about much of anything. _“Let’s put that to the test, then.”_  
  
Needless to say, he lost.  
  
The sake bottles are still scattered on the porch and Adashino feels lightheaded while Ginko’s cheeks are barely flushed, a light shade of red that could have come from the heat as much as the alcohol. He doesn’t understand how Ginko tolerates it so well. Adashino has long since changed into his lightest summer yukata, keeping all the doors open in a feeble attempt to let air flow through his house, and even so, he feels sweat trickling down his back when he sits up.  
  
His gaze settles on Ginko’s hair again, the outline of it blurry without his monocle. It's just a little matted with sweat, a reminder that he’s still human unlike the mushi he's always around. Though, to be fair, Adashino doesn’t know if mushi normally sweat. He doesn’t know what’s normal for mushi-shi, either; he doesn’t invite the others to stay. Their tales are never as good, most of them exterminating the mushi before learning much about them, most only interested in their bartering and not in stories, not in knowledge. _Where’s your curiosity?_ Adashino wants to shout, biting his tongue until they leave.  
  
He doesn’t care too much if the mushi _have_ to die. He may be a doctor, but he’s no bleeding heart. He understands well enough how deadly some can be, how unavoidable the choice between mushi or humans can be. Still, it makes for awfully boring stories.  
  
“Adashino?”  
  
It takes him a moment to blink, eyes refocusing, to realize Ginko is peering at him— that he’d been staring, and caught this time. “Ah, sorry,” Adashino waves off, glad he can't possibly blush when he's already flushed. “It’s the hair.”  
  
The word is barely out of his mouth before he freezes, biting down on his tongue so hard he thinks he tastes blood; he knows it’s all drained from his face, pale with his mistake. “I meant to say heat,” he corrects, but it’s clumsy and too late, words coming out tinged with regret.  
  
Ginko only stares with faint amusement before he looks away, taking a drag of his cigarette before plucking it from his lips. “It’s fine. I know how you are.”  
  
For a second, Adashino is gripped with the sudden cold terror that maybe Ginko has actually known this entire time that Adashino is— interested. But the easy way he says it is too calm for such a fact and it takes him a few moments to come up with what Ginko could possibly know because if not that, then what—  
  
He means the mushi.

It’s a jarring realization. Ginko must have chalked up the staring all this time to that, to idle fascinations about his body because of its relation to them. It’s the same thing Adashino has been insisting to himself but it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth now, salty metallic blood and wrongness and the lingering taste of alcohol.  
  
It isn’t entirely wrong. His fascination did start as that, as wondering why Ginko looked like that and pestering until he got the vague answer that it has something to do with mushi. It is true, too, that he is utterly enamored with mushi. It’s how they came to know each other in the first place. Too much money on his hands that he never spends on anything else but his odd hobby.  
  
He collects oddities; it’s no surprise he would keep Ginko too, if he could.  
  
Adashino reaches a hand out, slow enough that Ginko could stop him if he wanted to, until his fingers finally brush against that same white hair he’s always wanted to touch, slow and reverent. It feels soft, warmed by the temperature and damp with sweat at the base of Ginko’s neck, and he barely registers the reality of what he's doing behind the haze of alcohol and wonder.  
  
Ginko makes no move to make him stop, speaking calmly as if Adashino isn’t more or less petting him. “You’re drunk.”  
  
“Maybe.” He doesn’t draw his hand back, though, letting it slide down to cup Ginko’s jaw. His voice sounds distant even to his own ears, a single, striking desire prompting his actions. “I guess I am.”  
  
Ginko still doesn’t pull away, not even when Adashino leans in, brushes his thumb against Ginko's cheek and presses his lips to paler ones. It's a simple sensation but a heady one and he jerks when he feels a hand squeeze his arm, mind reeling as all the sudden negative consequences come crashing down.

His wide-eyed alarm fizzes out quickly when the grip tightens to keep him from getting away, a quiet, wordless sign. Adashino blinks, wetting his lips as if to speak before thinking better of it. He leans in again instead, sliding his hand down to the smooth, sweat-slick skin of Ginko's neck to adjust their angle and kiss him deeply.  
  
They both taste overwhelmingly of alcohol, though Adashino can’t be sure if maybe that’s just him. He hardly minds either way, and he minds even less when Ginko’s tongue slides willingly against his own, when Ginko’s hand slides down to rest on his hip. It gives a little squeeze and Adashino hums in response, a thoroughly pleased sound.  
  
It feels like it lasts forever and like it’s over in an instant. His breath is too heavy when he leans away, unsteady. The flush on Ginko’s cheeks looks a little darker, too, but maybe that’s just wishful thinking. Maybe it’s just the heat. Ginko's hand slides away, back into his own lap, and Adashino misses the feel of it immediately, leaning away and trying to grasp at his hazy thoughts enough to form words. “That’s— that’s fine?” Adashino questions.  
  
“Mm.”  
  
The easy acceptance there is too off-putting and Adashino presses it, chases Ginko with a hand on his shirt, fingers at the buttons of his collar. They never are done up. His fingers brush against the skin there, warm and smooth. “This?”  
  
“Mm.”  
  
He swallows. Ginko watches. Adashino ends up leaning forward, resting his head in the crook of Ginko’s neck to press his mouth there. His exhale is unsteady as he moves his hand to hover at Ginko’s belt. “This?” he asks, voice barely a rasp.  
  
“Whatever you want.”  
  
_Everything._ The response rises to his lips immediately and Adashino knows he can’t say it. He can’t ask for what Ginko can’t give. “What do _you_ want?” he asks instead.  
  
The answer he hears in the long, drawn out pause is: _everything I can’t have._ The answer Ginko speaks aloud is: “At the moment? Dinner, maybe.”  
  
Adashino laughs, sharp and unintentional. It kills the mood but it kills the tension too, Ginko’s hand brushing his arm softly again. It’s comfortable, resting his head here like this. It’s easier than he thought it would be. “You mooching ass,” Adashino mutters against Ginko's skin.  
  
“What was that about my ass?”

Adashino leans back, just barely catching the cheeky expression on Ginko’s face and smoothing his own into something deadpan. “It’s completely unappealing.”

“Liar.”

They’re both smiling.

Adashino pours himself another cup of sake for good measure.

 

* * *

 

The sun itself is barely awake when Ginko is, lighting up a cigarette and rolling up his futon. Adashino watches through barely-cracked eyes, groggy brain not quite functional just yet. “Headin’ out?”

The words are terribly slurred, but Ginko seems to understand anyway. “Mm. It’ll be cooler now.”

“I suppose.”

It’s quiet while Ginko tidies, sorting a few of his drawers before he goes. Adashino pushes himself into what could generously be called a sitting position, trying to get a better look— Ginko shifts specifically to block his view and Adashino scowls. “Stingy.”

“You wouldn’t even know what to do with half of the stuff in here.”

“I’d figure it out _eventually.”_

By the time he finishes, Adashino is more or less awake, yawning and adjusting his monocle. It’s earlier than he’d care to get up but he won’t be getting back to sleep now so he figures it’s a good chance to pick some of his herbs before the sun really comes out, or to make the trek into town. It isn’t far, but every trek feels like a journey when it’s hilly and hot out.

He wonders if Ginko ever gets tired of his journey.

“Hey.”

Ginko pauses to look back, one hand on his luggage strap. The scene is familiar, though Adashino knows he can’t make him stay another night. “Come back soon, alright? _Soon_ won’t bring the mushi.”

Adashino stands without waiting for an answer, making his way to the door and sliding it open. The summer breeze is cool, the world outside still hazy and dim. He speaks slowly, carefully. “We can drink again, sometime. If you want.” When he turns around, Ginko’s lips are against his, white hair tickling his face.

“Sure.”

It’s quiet, but it’s a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> lately i've been wanting to practice doing requests, but i'm not sure how exactly to "practice"... so i keep finding really old ones and try to fulfill them in the hopes of gaining skill. having said that, i definitely got off track on this one. this fic is inspired by an old [anonymous request](https://mushishi.livejournal.com/109931.html?thread=720491#t720491) from the livejournal mushishi fic meme, which was actually fulfilled [here](http://needlefish000.livejournal.com/970.html) but the fic seems to be abandoned. (love that last line, though. mm.)
> 
> i think i need more practice to write them in a romantic/sexual dynamic, but hopefully i'll get the hang of it soon. in the meantime, feel free to suggest something or let me know what you liked so i can do it again.
> 
> またいつか


End file.
